Emanuelly Raquel 900 192 000
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Me And Raquel In Dallas free porn video
Me and Raquel in Dallas
By Nancy Rose
It's difficult to choose a good transsexual prostitute. You don't get
much information from the escort web pages other than a few artful,
overly touched up photos and phrases like "for the discerning
gentleman? and "safe and sane.? Both things should be assumed. Is there
a TS girl for the blabbermouth who tells everyone he's going to bang a
TS pro and puts the pictures on his blog? Does anyone want a girl
insane and unsafe?
I chose Raquel for a few reasons.
One, her photos were beautiful but had a natural look to them, without
any over indulgence in Photoshop blur filters.
Two, she wore subdued make up but was still spectacularly beautiful.
This was a girl you could take out for a $26 steak after an hour or two
of playtime.
Three, her breasts were natural, not filled with saline or silicon.
They were two perky, fleshy mounds growing naturally from femmy
hormones slowly bringing a male body into femininity. They practically
begged to be touched, and then worshipped, and then envied.
Four, there was a mysterious sadness about her, a sexy melancholy that
I found intoxicating. I looked at her pictures, the thoughtful look on
her face, the glimmer of steel in her eyes, and found myself wanting to
at least meet her.
Five, interesting advertising copy. On her webpage, she wrote:
"Remember, I'm not your friend, I'm your fantasy.?
What the hell did that mean? Who was she reminding? Whose friend was
she if not mine, for at least an hour? And how could she so comfortably
embrace the idea that she was the stuff of fantasy, like a unicorn or
Santa Claus? The statement seemed to the most honest thing a prostitute
had ever written, and also the most confusing.
So I called, and she picked up, in a perfectly feminine voice. It had
me completely fooled. I thought maybe it was a genetic girl girlfriend.
I asked: "Is Raquel there??
"Speaking,? she said, businesslike, not unfriendly, but not exactly
welcoming.
She asked no questions, offered no chit chat or flirting, but matter-
of-factly told me what hotel she was in and to be there in 30 minutes.
I hit the road.
I arrived at a slightly weathered suite hotel that services lower-
middle class families on vacation and mid-level traveling business
people. It was clean enough, seemed safe enough. So far so good.
Going to meet a pro for the first time is nerve wracking, so arriving
at a decent hotel was a huge relief. So often, they do business in bad
neighborhoods, in filthy motels and in even filthier apartments. If you
go to see a girl but you're afraid to leave your car, just drive away
and find another girl or a strip club or go home and rent a porno. You
really don't want to try and have sex while worrying about you car
being stolen or coming back to find it's become an impromptu crack den.
I speak from experience.
Despite the seemingly safe location, I still took my usual visiting-a-
pro precautions. I put my fee money in my pocket and put my watch and
wallet in the glove compartment. If I got trick rolled, I wanted to
lose the money I budgeted, not my driver's license. It would be
unbearable standing in line at the DMV for 8 hours knowing why you were
there.
I knocked on her door and she opened. She was as beautiful and sexy as
her photos. This was both a surprise and a relief. I've visited girls
who, compared to their photos, turned out to be different heights,
different weights, different races and have different penis lengths.
It's amazing what you can do with Photoshop.
Raquel was a little taller that I expected, a good 6-foot-1, but the
height didn't matter. She was perfectly, startlingly passable. Sure,
she looked as if she should be on the Olympic basketball team, her body
trim, firm and long-hipped, but there was nothing mannish about her,
her figure or her face. I wondered when the last time she had been
mistaken for a man. It seemed like it would have been a long, long time
ago.
She wore a mini-mini pleated black skirt, a grey satin blouse tied
around her trim waist, and fishnet hose that seemed to stretch for
miles over those long legs. I became erect just looking at her. It was
all I could do to not drop to my knees and thank her for seeing me. She
was perfect.
Raquel was all business, a small smile, a handshake, an offered chair.
She sat on the bed. The chit chat didn't last long. "You look
uncomfortable in those pants,? she said. It turned out I was, and off
they went, along with my shirt, shoes, socks, and underwear.
She took off everything but her panties and fishnets. She put her
thumbs in the waistband of her black, satin, French-cut panties.
"Should I take these off?? she asked.
"Yes, I really think you should,? I said. And off they came.
Holy John Holmes, she had a monster between her legs! The 8-inches
mentioned on her website were all there, and raging hard, her trim
pubes framing a massive piece of manhood. She was bigger than my 5-
inches, but that's almost always the case with the girls I see. I
wondered if she actually planned on having that magnificent thing
removed, but I didn't ask. It seemed too personal.
I walked to her and gently hugged her, our flesh finally touching, her
hot rod so close to my smaller one, her face near mine, but higher, as
she had about five inches on me. I didn't lean in for a kiss, though I
wanted to. Pros have various and unpredictable rules about kissing, but
hugging is something you're almost always welcome to, like continental
breakfast at the Holiday Inn.
She felt warm and firm and smooth and just heavenly in my arms. Looking
into her eyes and finally seeing her give a genuine smile, I felt
something a little like love.
"Did you bring my fee?? she asked, always the professional.
I left her arms and went to my pants. She went to the bed and struck a
sexy pose with her hands behind her head and her legs open, her cock at
its full height, jutting out at a perfect 90 degree angle like a
little, veined flag pole.
I put two hundred dollar bills on the dresser and joined her on the
bed, where more snuggling commenced. I let my right hand gently explore
her body, lightly touching her breasts, then kissing her hard nipples,
then letting my hand go lower, where I gently took her hard tool,
touching the head just a bit, loving how hard she was.
That's why she-male pros are infinitely better than female pros. You
never know when a female pro is acting aroused and into a session. And
odds are she really is acting, really wishing you would just leave your
money and go away. Raquel's raging hard one said I was more than
welcome to stay a while. You can't fake a hard on.
She was moaning, and her thighs were shaking. She reached down and
grasped my little cock and gently squeezed.
I couldn't resist. I leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. She
didn't pull away, which is what I feared she would do, or give some
kind of warning. "No kissing? is what most female pros say with coy
grin.
Raquel kissed back. Wet lips opened wider, then wider, then wider.
Tongues began touching, sliding in and out of our mouths. I hadn't
necked liked this since my high school prom. It's hard to believe how
much pleasure can be exchanged through the lips.
Her cock was pulsating with pleasure. I could feel it my hand getting
warm and harder. I think she was actually close to orgasm, and so was
I. I didn't want the night to end so soon, so I slowed down,
concentrated on her lips, enjoying the feel of our bodies being tight
against each other.
Then came an obvious question...
"What would you like to do?? she asked.
"I don't know. What's on the menu??
"Well, there is one thing I would really like, but I'm not sure you'd
want to do it.?
I thought Raquel was talking about fucking me, which is what a pro I
see in San Fran likes to do. That pro is Vietnamese and speaks very
little English, so she doesn't bother with asking. She goes from 69 to
putting a towel under to my ass, to lubing my hole, to fucking me
without anything but a smile to indicate what's next. Luckily, her cock
(covered in a condom of course) is pretty small and after a thrust or
two it feels wonderful.
But Raquel's cock is a monster and would split me in half. I'd be
waddling for a week. It would hurt and maybe even tear something that
wouldn't heal for a while. However, I am an insane, horny pervert. I
wanted her desperately, and part of my crazy, perverted brain wanted
that cock deep in me, wanted to feel it squirt deep inside me. I wanted
to see her face as she came in my ass, feel her cock go limp while
still in, feel her cum slip out of my well fucked ass.
I guess feelings like that make me a "bottom,? in gay parlance, and my
Vietnamese friend a "top,? because despite as beautiful and feminine as
she is, she likes to fuck as opposed to being fucked. I've been fucked
three times with a real cock (as opposed to the various butt plug and
dildos I've had up there), and it was absolute heaven all three times.
Lying back and letting someone else do all the work, someone so full of
lust for you that they grunt and moan say your name with awe, not only
feels good but turns out to be quite an ego boost.
And there was Raquel's cock, which was as scary as it was beautiful. I
went back and forth. Should I say yes or should I say no?
"I haven't been fucked for weeks,? she said. "I'd love for you to fuck
me.?
Oh shit. I'm not good at fucking. It always seems like a good idea, but
I always screw it up. I think too much when I have to be the one on
top, pounding away, in charge of everyone's good time, responsible for
everyone's orgasm.
There was a scene in The Last Samurai when Tom Cruise gets this
instruction from his Japanese swordsmanship teacher: "Too many minds.
When fighting, you think with too many minds. You think about him, and
him, and him, and him. Don't think. Stop thinking."
If I had been Tom Cruise, I would have been killed in the next battle
scene because that's all my brain does, think about so much stuff that
it overheats and shuts down all operations, including erections.
I wanted to fuck her, wanted so much to give her pleasure, but I knew
it would be trouble. But what the hell, I gave it a shot. "Sure," I
said. "I'd love to fuck you."
I slid on top of her and kissed her deeply, feeling her hard cock just
under mine. I was between her long legs and could feel the strings of
her fishnets on my sides. God I love girls who are bigger than me. I
love feeling surrounded by all that flesh. Big girls are a massive
theme park of soft sensual skin. I could have stayed on top of her
forever. But I couldn't, because I had a job to do.
I kissed her breasts, the sweet skin between them, and traveled down,
spreading small kisses around her belly button, then sliding my tongue
into it for a second, because what the hell, it was a hole, and it
contained nerve endings, so maybe it would feel good. Who knows what
you're supposed to do in these situations? I really need to buy a how-
to book on foreplay or something.
"Ow," she said, which confused me because I couldn't have possible done
anything painful.
"Be careful around my hips," she said. "I had liposuction around my
waist three weeks ago and it's still sensitive."
That would explain her curvy figure. The typical TS girl, and every TV,
has a problem with her waist-to-hip ratio. A male will have a thick
waist and thinner hips and thighs. If he's very thin, they will be
close to the same size, but with any belly at all the illusion of a
female figure can't be maintained without cruel waist cinchers and
corsets. (I know this from experience.)
Raquel had a perfect hourglass figure, a nipped waist flaring out into
wonderfully round hips, perfectly feminine. She could wear a bikini to
the beach and you'd never know she had XY chromosomes, except for maybe
the giant bulge at her crotch.
So, there was the first thing I had to think about. Her sides and the
area above her pretty cock felt like a big bruise. Any pressure more
than a light touch caused her pain, and my entire goal in life at that
moment was to give her pleasure. I moved on to her penis, which clearly
had had no alteration.
Not that I've seen many of them up close, but this was one big rod,
with surprising weight and mass. I couldn't get it all in my mouth, but
not for lack of trying. When it was in deep, almost touching the back
of my throat, there were still another two inches of it I couldn't get
in there.
I used he tricks I knew, the tongue rubbing underneath the head, the
lip suck on just the head, the long lollipop licks. All I could think
at the time was how much I wanted to see it spurt, and I wondered if I
could make it do so.
I was actually hoping for some kind of instruction. She was the
professional cocksucker. I've done it exactly twice before and had no
idea what I was doing. I wish she would have given me the expert tips
that would have made her feel good, and any future cocks I might like
to suck feel good. But she stayed mum, giving me little quiet moans on
occasion. I guess cocksucking, like fired chicken recipes, are trade
secrets and not to be given away lightly.
I'd like to point out that this is a big difference between orally
servicing a man (even a feminized man) and a woman. When asked, a woman
will tell you exactly how to eat her pussy and might even present
diagrams and homework assignments. My favorite tip ever was: "Do the
alphabet with your tongue three times, once above my clit, once below
it, and once right on it. On the third go round, fuck me with the dildo
when you hit the letter G." With men however, you have no idea you're
doing a good job until the spunk hits you in the back of your throat
and the guy grabs the back of your head like he's searching for bowling
ball holes.
Anyway, I was having a wonderful time worshipping Raquel's cock when
she said...
"Ouch."
"Mmmmm," I said and looked up, her dick filling my mouth. What I was
thinking was: "Shit! I can't do anything right!"
"Watch your teeth," she said.
"Got it," I said. "Sorry about that."
And back to it I went.
The problem was that while the top part of her cock was a reasonable
size, it widened out as it headed to her balls. That meant my molars
where scratching the base of her cock the deeper I got. And because I
have similar equipment, I understood how that might hurt a twitch.
Damn, one more thing to worry about.
Still, I was rock hard and horny and so was she. She wanted fucking,
and I was going to give it the college try.
I went back up top and kissed her pretty, plump lips. She raised her
legs and my cock slid below her balls, looking for a hole to enter.
We kissed for a few seconds, and I savored feeling her hot skin next to
mine, feeling her giant hard dick pressed against my stomach.
"Ouch," she said again.
"Ooops. What did I do this time?" I asked.
"I also had a nose job and there are still stitches in there. It's
really tender and every time your nose hits mine it hurts. You have to
kiss me from the side."
"Got it. Kiss at angles. I can do that."
And I did, for a little while. More kissing, more slow grinding, then
another "Ow." I touched her nose with mine again.
I turned my head to a different angle, but now I was thinking too much.
I couldn't touch her nose or touch her sides too much, and holding
myself in push-up position was making my arms burn.
Her lips were still magical and all those negative thoughts faded and
we were back in a groove, for a few minutes at least. I was rock hard.
She was rock hard. Everything seemed fine. I was going to fuck her. But
first, I thought it might be fun to talk dirty a little.
"You want me to fuck you?" I asked.
"Oh yesssss, fuck me," she said, seeming to mean it, seeming to want
it.
"You want me to fuck your pussy?"
"Oh yes, fuck me hard."
I knew this was actually getting to her, because like her, I'm a
submissive sissy and we want nothing more than to be thoroughly fucked.
That's another reason why I love T-girls whores. I am one, on the
inside at least, and know what we like.
Then I said something really stupid...
"Does Amanda want fucked?"
Who is Amanda? I have no idea. I've never known an Amanda. I thought
for some reason Raquel said her name was Amanda when we shook hands
earlier. I thought maybe it was her real name, as opposed to her
working name. Alas, it wasn't her name at all. She smiled.
"Who the hell is Amanda?" she asked, giggling about it.
"I have no idea," I said.
"You can tell me," she said. "I'm not the kind of person who cares."
"I really don't know. It just came out. Sorry about that."
And right then I couldn't remember her fucking real name. And I
couldn't get it out of my head that I somehow offended her and hurt her
feelings. This encounter actually meant something to me, was special to
me, and at that point she wouldn't have believed me if I told her that.
I forgot her name. I'm an idiot.
So, I'm thinking we should get back to the good stuff, and if we're
going to fuck, we should get to it and forget about all my idiot
mistakes.
"Do you have something I can wear?" I ask.
She reached over to the dresser next to the bed with her long
gracefully arm and pulled open the drawer. She fished out an aqua blue
condom and handed it to me. Geez. Did I have to do all the work?
Doesn't it say somewhere in the prostitute handbook that you're
supposed to apply the condom to your john's dick?
I rolled it on, and I stayed hard. All good so far. She lifted her
legs, bringing her rosebud into the line of fire. Still good. Now it
was time to find the hole with my hard dick. Shit. Where the hell is
it? One good thing about real woman, their cunts are conveniently
located right on the front and put at the right angle for fucking.
I fumbled a bit, she lifted legs up higher, and I start worrying about
not finding it, then I worried about me being too small, then I worried
about worrying and making it soft, then I worried about insulting her
earlier with the whole "Amanda" thing and yes, my dick decided it as
time to pack it. It became as soft as over cooked spaghetti.
So then I did the ancient trick of old men everywhere, jacking off
furiously and try to get the hard-on back before anyone notices. Of
course, then I started worrying that I had somehow insulted her by
getting soft, and that of course, made it softer. Damn.
Still, it was showing signs of life. If she could have just put her
legs back a bit more, just given me a few words of encouragement, given
me one good "fuck me hard!"
Instead, she got up on her knees, went to doggie style, and presented
me with a truly awe-inspiring look at her ass. What a view! I mean
seriously, it was ridiculous how good that rear end looked. A real man
could have fucked her for days. But alas, I'm not that much of a man,
though I did admire the scenery.
What she said next didn't help.
"Let's try this. I don't think you're going to be able to stay hard in
that position."
That didn't exactly put my cock in a good mood. As much as I wanted to,
it just wasn't going to get hard, no matter how great her ass looked. I
gave up and lied down. The look of disappointment on her face was
heartbreaking. She was the one prostitute on the planet who truly
wanted to be fucked long and hard, and my dick decided to take the
night off. Fabulous.
The humiliation doesn't end there. She saw it as her professional duty
to make me cum, so she lubed her hand up and got to work. And hey, I
was paying the bill, so I tried to lie back and enjoy it. It was so
embarrassing though, having missed such a wonderful opportunity. I
wanted more than anything to walk out of that room with her happily
fucked.
Then she did something that felt really interesting. With my cock now
awake and happy in a hand (the home it knows best), she slid her cock
into the same hand and rubbed them together. Mmmmmmm. That was hot and
felt good, really good.
I surrendered my pride, closed my eyes, and savored the attention. I
was a sissy who needed to be milked by her big TS friend. I was under
her control, her big eyes, her wonderful tits, her long legs. She was
wonderful to look at and I was ready to cum just looking at her when
her damn cell phone rang.
"Where are you!" said and angry sounding voice after she answered it
with one hand, her other hand still working.
"I'm working," she said.
"But I'm already here!" said the annoyed sounding voice.
"It's going to have to wait. I'm busy!" she said.
This was pressure I didn't need. Deadlines and cumming just don't mix.
It was a good thing she was massaging me with her hand or it would have
quickly gone soft again.
The only way home now was to cum. I had to so as not to insult her
again. It was my duty, the least I could do. So I closed my eyes and
fantasized, which is exactly what I do when I'm stoking my cock all by
myself.
And what did I think of? The same thing I always think of when I want
to cum quick. I imagine I've been kidnapped, put into bondage and told
by a beautiful mistress that she's going to make me a sex-hungry sissy
slut, and that she's going to cut off my balls now. Strange fantasy I
know, but it makes me cum extremely quickly. I thought about Raquel
cooing in my ear, telling me how she was going to make me a pretty
whore just like her, how she was going to teach me everything she knew.
She smiled as it squirted onto my belly. I smiled back.
At that point, she started moving fast. She handed me a warm wet rag to
clean up. While I did so, she began getting dressed in civilian
clothes, jeans and a T-shirt. She was anxious to get downstairs to
whoever had called earlier. A pimp, I imagined.
I got dressed fast, and put another $100 on the bed, a huge tip, but it
made me feel better.
She gave me a hug, said thanks and wished me a good night.
I would have liked to talk to her some, find out a little about what
strange road brought her to that hotel room, gave her sprouting boobs,
a surgically nipped waist and assigned her this miserable profession. I
wondered what her childhood had been like, if her parents knew, if they
were supportive, if her old friends knew, how she had gone about
telling them, if she had told anyone. I wondered if she would ever find
happiness in this cruel world that brings such desperate people like
her and me together.
But she was my fantasy, not my friend, so I left, never to see her
again.
Mara
- 21.04.2022
- 22
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